


Relax

by YiHa



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Death, Gen, but it's also rather zen, corpse, disturbing imagery, forest, gross depictions, rot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 18:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YiHa/pseuds/YiHa
Summary: Despite what the tags may suggest, this is a rather peaceful take at what Beelzebub could be up to to get some rest and some peace of mind.





	Relax

They liked the forest.

  
They weren’t supposed to _like_ anything at all, really, let alone anything Earth related. But they did.

They liked to go to a remote corner of wilderness, lie on the ground, and wait. Letting in all of the sounds, the odors, the sensations around them. Creaking leaves on the ground under their head. Damp soil under their nails. The strong smell of a nearby excrement. The other scents, ever changing with the wind, but definitely forest-like. Humus. Flowers. Trees. Faint decomposition. Even the sun seemed to have a specific smell in the forest. 

  
And the sounds. The sounds. So many of them. All the insects running away, all the other animals crawling and sprinting and mating and eating and giving birth and chasing and dying and sleeping and being alive. Everywhere. And the wind in the leaves. And the rain. And the thunder.  
  


They liked that it was _buzzing_.  
  


They liked to feel the creatures crawling over their face and body, invading their clothes, eating away the flesh after a while. Claming their flesh. Integrating it as part of life. Part of the process. _Part of Her Creation._  
  


That was not allowed, not for Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, Lord of the Flies, to like Her Creation so intensely that they would ever want to be a part of it. But that’s how things were.

  
Whenever Beelzebub was in need of peace, they would borrow a body, chose a forest, lie on the ground, and let the body rot. And, peacefully, feel the cycle of life and death take part around them, inside them, observe it from as close a demon could be to such things.

  
The borrowed body would never get returned.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be part of a bigger fic, but I'm not quite sure I'm gonna ever be able to finish it and it works quite well as a stand alone piece. 
> 
> If you are familiar with the french poet Baudelaire, this is also the same feeling his work has that I tried to convey ( with the "turning mud into gold" thing and writing gruesome stuff in a poetic appealing way. )


End file.
